Chapter 8: Corbin - Purrfect Valentine

There’s a special kind of hell reserved for people who book rooms at inns that double as karaoke venues. I know this because I was currently living in it, lying on a twin bed with a heart-shaped pillow under my head, a kitten on my chest, and the muffled sounds of someone butchering “I Will Always Love You” bleeding through the walls. The kitten—who still didn’t have a name I was willing to say out loud—lifted her head and gave me a look that clearly said this is your fault.

“Don’t start with me,” I muttered. “You’re the one who got sick and stranded us both in Valentine’s Town, USA.”

She blinked slowly. Judgment. Pure judgment.

Another voice joined the first—off-key, enthusiastic, definitely drunk. I checked my phone. 7:48 PM. The karaoke had started less than an hour ago. This was going to be a long night.

I could stay here. Hide in my tiny room with its tacky wallpaper and tinier bed and pretend the noise wasn’t slowly driving me insane. Or I could go out there, find Ally, and spend the evening watching her laugh with that British bookshop guy who’d invited her.

Fitz. Even his name was annoying.

“I’m not jealous,” I told the kitten. “I have no reason to be jealous. She’s not mine. This town isn’t mine. You’re not mine.”

She purred and kneaded her claws into my shirt.

“Don’t do that.”

She kept doing it.

My phone buzzed with a text from Ally.

I stared at the ceiling. I’d told her I’d be there. I’d specifically said with you, like an idiot, because she’d mentioned going with someone else and something possessive and stupid had crawled out of my chest before I could stop it.

I sat up, dislodging the kitten, who gave an indignant mew.

“Stay here. Don’t pee in my shoe and don’t destroy anything. I’ll be back.”

She watched me pull on a button-down and grab my room key. At the door, I paused.

“This is a terrible idea.”

She meowed in agreement.

I went anyway.

The barn was chaos.

Pink streamers everywhere. Heart balloons. A disco ball throwing fractured light across a crowd of people who were definitely having more fun than me. The smell of beer and perfume and something fried hit me the second I stepped through the door, and my nose twitched on instinct.

I spotted Ally almost immediately.

She was near the bar, laughing at something someone said, and she looked⁠—

Fuck.

Short pink skirt. White blouse that kept slipping off one shoulder. Hair down, those pink tips brushing her collarbone. She wasn’t wearing her usual scrubs or her doctor’s coat, or her practical braids. She looked relaxed. Happy. Like a completely different person.

She caught my eye and waved, her entire face lighting up.

Shit. I was not ready. I needed to prepare myself, and I certainly wasn’t prepared.

“Superman!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me through the crowd. “You actually came!”

“Said I would.”

She was already steering me toward a group near the edge of the dance floor. “Come on, there’s people I want you to meet.”

“I’ve met enough people in this town.”

“Too bad.”

The next twenty minutes were a blur of faces I’d never remember. There was the woman with the massive earrings who worked at the small grocery store and kept touching my arm. The guy with the mustache who owned the gas station. A different guy said he was in charge of sanitation, and I hated to admit it, but he smelled the part. There were too many others. But at least there was no Fitz.

I really was jealous.

I hated it.

Ally dragged me from group to group like I was a show pony, and I let her because she was clearly a drink or two ahead of me and having the time of her life. Her cheeks were flushed, her laugh came easier, and she kept leaning into me when she talked—a warm weight against my arm that I was trying very hard not to think about because I did not need my jeans getting any tighter than they were.

“And this is⁠—”

“I need a drink,” I said, scanning the room for an escape route.

Instead, I spotted Lynx, the mechanic, lurking near the back wall with his hands in his pockets and an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. A woman stood next to him—dark red hair in loose curls, animated hands, talking a mile a minute while Lynx nodded along.

Relief flooded through me. Someone I actually knew.

“This way.” I grabbed Ally’s hand and steered her toward the back of the room before she could introduce me to another stranger.

“Where are we—oh!” Her face lit up when she spotted Lynx. “McMurty!”

She released my hand and threw her arms around him in a hug that lasted longer than I liked. Lynx looked startled, then amused, patting her back awkwardly.

“Hey, Doc. You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m in a great mood.” She pulled back, beaming. “My favorite grumpy superhero actually showed up.”

“I’m not grumpy,” I said.

Three people looked at me with identical expressions of disbelief.

Lynx gestured to the redhead beside him. “Corbin, Ally, this is Ivy. Friend from high school.”

“Hi!” Ivy embraced Ally without hesitation, and when she tried to do the same to me, I stopped her by holding out my hand. She snorted as she shook it. Her smile was wide and practiced—not fake, exactly, but polished. Like she knew exactly how to work a room. “You must be the guy with the kitten. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“From who?”

“Everyone.” She laughed. “Small town. Word travels fast. Plus, Lynx mentioned you when I asked about the Mustang in his shop. Beautiful car, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I shook her hand. “You know cars?”

“I do. Grew up in the shop. Lynx’s older sister was my best friend since we were little girls. Their dad made sure I knew my way around an engine. I even do my own oil changes.” She beamed at me. “Lynx is the expert, of course. Your Mustang is in great hands.”

Lynx’s ears went slightly red. “I’m alright.”

Ally turned her attention to Ivy, and within seconds they were chatting like old friends. I caught fragments—something about Lynx’s ancient cat Twix needing her senior checkup, something about Ivy being back in town for a while, something about the absolutely unhinged Valentine’s Day festival coming up.

“So.” I stepped closer to Lynx, lowering my voice. “How’s my baby looking?”

“Parts should be here by the end of next week. Maybe sooner if I find a match to light a fire under their asses.”

“Do you mind?”

“I’ll even add some lighter fluid.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You in a rush to leave?”

I glanced at Ally. She was giggling at something Ivy said, one hand on the other woman’s arm, completely at ease.

“I was. Not sure now,” I admitted, surprised by the honesty in my own words since even I hadn’t realized that I might not want to rush out anymore.

Lynx followed my gaze, and something knowing flickered across his face. He smirked, but didn’t comment.

A burst of laughter from the girls, and then Ivy was grabbing Ally’s hand. “Come on. I have an idea.”

“Wait, where are you—” Lynx started, concern flashing across his face.

But they were already gone, disappearing into the crowd toward the stage where a bored-looking DJ was managing the karaoke signups.

“Damn it. That’s not good,” he muttered, watching Ivy’s retreating form with an expression I recognized. The same expression I probably had when I looked at Ally.

“So,” I said carefully. “High school friend?”

His jaw tightened. “Yep.”

“Just friends?”

“Yep.”

The word came out clipped. But his eyes hadn’t left Ivy, tracking her through the crowd as she laughed and pulled Ally toward the signup sheet.

“Ivy seems nice,” I offered.

“She is.”

“And you’ve known her since high school.”

“I have.”

“And you’re just friends.”

Lynx finally looked at me. His mismatched eyes—one brown, one blue—were guarded. “Do you have a point, Superman?”

“So glad that name has stuck,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. When he lifted an eyebrow, I held up my hands. “And no, no point. Just observing.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Let’s just say it’s fucking complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“She’s not—” He stopped. Shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re friends. That’s it.”

The way he said it told me everything when I added it to what I’d already learned. This wasn’t new. This was old. Years of wanting something he didn’t think he could have—his sister’s best friend—shoved down and locked away. I understood that particular brand of self-inflicted torture better than I wanted to admit. I’d done it with Andi multiple times.

“Beer?” I asked.

Lynx’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Yeah. Let’s get a beer.”

We made our way to the bar, and I decided I liked him, even if he was taller than me and a tad intimidating with all the tattoos. He was quiet, straightforward, clearly in love with a woman he refused to pursue. We had more in common than I’d expected.

We’d barely gotten our drinks when the girls reappeared, flushed and grinning.

“You. Me.” Ivy pointed at Lynx and wiggled her finger for him to come closer. “Stage. Now.”

Lynx went still. “Hell no.”

“Yes. I already signed us up.”

“Nope.”

“Yup.”

“Ivy—”

“It’s ‘Suddenly Seymour.’ You’ll kill it, and I never got to sing it with you because I’d already graduated. Come on, indulge me.”

“I don’t⁠—”

She grabbed his arm and started pulling. “Come on. Don’t make me beg.”

Lynx shot me a look—help me—but I raised my beer in salute.

“Have fun, buddy.”

“Dick,” he muttered, flipping me off as Ivy dragged him toward the stage. I chuckled and waved at him.

Ally appeared at my side, tucking herself against my arm and somehow resembling the kitten in my room as she nuzzled closer. “This is going to be good.”

“What’s ‘Suddenly Seymour’?”

She stared at me with wide eyes. “It’s from Little Shop of Horrors. The musical?”

“Never seen it.”

“You’ve never—” She shook her head. “We’re fixing that. But for now, just watch.”

The music started—something theatrical and building—and Lynx glared at Ivy before taking the first verse. It was slow, barely singing. He was decent. Clear voice, decent range, clearly not happy to be on stage, but not awkward. He’d done this before.

Ivy took the second verse after the chorus, and to no surprise, the woman could also sing. Neither of them needed the lyrics, instead keeping eye contact with the other the entire time.

And then the second chorus started, and holy shit.

Ivy could sing.

By the third verse, Lynx had loosened up and owned the stage as much as Ivy. And when he started belting, I nearly lost my shit.

The man could sing. Not karaoke-acceptable singing, not drunk-enough-to-be-charming singing. Actual, genuine, belt-it-from-your-chest singing. His voice filled the barn as the two of them riffed off each other. Both rich and raw and completely unexpected. Especially from the giant man who looked like he spent his days covered in engine grease.

I stared.

Beside me, Ally laughed and poked me in the ribs. “Told you.”

“He’s—”

“I know.”

“They’re—”

“I know.”

They harmonized on the final chorus, Ivy’s voice weaving around Lynx’s, and the entire room went quiet. Even the drunk groups near the bar stopped talking to listen. When they hit the final note—Lynx holding it longer than should have been possible—the barn erupted in cheers.

I was still staring when I felt Ally’s eyes on me.

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

I was. I hadn’t even noticed. “So?”

“So you have dimples.” She poked my cheek. “Right there. It’s adorable.”

“I’m not adorable.”

“You kind of are.” Her grin widened, shifting into something more mischievous, and my stomach dropped when she wiggled her eyebrows. Damn, she was dangerous.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Ally.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

My eyes widened when I glanced from where Ivy and Lynx were getting off stage and back to Ally. “Did you sign us up?”

“Maybe.”

“Ally, you didn’t⁠—”

The DJ’s voice cut through the noise. “Next up—Ally and Corbin! ‘Don’t You Want Me’ by The Human League!”

Ally pulled me toward the stage. “Come on, Superman. Time to shine.”

“But I can’t sing.”

“Neither can I. That’s the fun part.”

“But, but we just watched actual professionals⁠—”

“And now the crowd needs a terrible palate cleanser.” She shoved a microphone into my hand. “Come on, you’ve got this. Let go and have a little fun with me.”

The music started. Synth. Eighties. I vaguely recognized it from movie soundtracks, but there was no chance in hell I actually knew the lyrics.

And damn, I was supposed to take the first verse. The lyrics appeared on the screen, and I had approximately three seconds to realize I was about to make a complete ass of myself.

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar...”

My voice cracked on the first line. Actually cracked, like a thirteen-year-old boy going through puberty. Someone in the crowd whooped—probably mockingly—and I seriously considered making a break for the exit.

But then I glimpsed the crowd. They weren’t cringing. They were... clapping along? A group near the front was swaying, drinks raised, grinning like this was exactly what they wanted after Lynx and Ivy’s Broadway-worthy performance.

“Don’t, don’t you want me?”

The chorus hit, and I was still terrible, but the crowd didn’t care. They sang along, drowning out my weak attempt at the high notes, the low notes, and every note in between. I searched for something to anchor myself and landed on Ally.

She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, microphone clutched to her chest, watching me with this ridiculous grin. She mouthed you’ve got this and threw me a thumbs-up.

Fine. If I was going down, I was going down swinging.

I leaned into the next verse, still off-key, still objectively bad, but committed now. The crowd cheered louder. Ally laughed—not at me, with me—and when her part finally came, she grabbed my arm and belted directly into my face.

She was worse than me.

Way worse.

Her voice cracked, wobbled, and went flat on every other note. She missed an entire line because she was laughing too hard. I couldn’t stop the grin on my face as I watched her not give a single shit about how she sounded.

“Don’t you want me, baby?”

Shit, did I? Did I want her?

By the final chorus, we’d abandoned any pretense of actual singing. Ally grabbed my hand, and we jumped up and down like idiots, screaming the lyrics more than singing them, the crowd clapping and cheering us on. My face hurt from smiling. My throat hurt from yelling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this light.

The music cut out.

We were nose to nose, both breathing hard, and Ally’s eyes were bright with joy and too many drinks. Before I could overthink it, she threw her arms around my neck and squeezed.

“That was amazing!” She squealed.

I stood frozen for a beat—two beats—before my arms remembered how to work. I hugged her back, hyperaware of how small she felt against me, how she smelled like vanilla and beer and something floral underneath.

“We were terrible,” I managed.

“The best kind of terrible.” She pulled back, beaming, and I became suddenly, painfully aware that we were still on stage and people were waiting.

“Right. Yeah.” I cleared my throat, handing my microphone to the next person in line—a guy who looked way too eager to perform “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” solo. “Let’s, uh—stairs.”

Smooth. Very smooth.

I helped Ally down the few steps to the floor, keeping a hand on her elbow when she wobbled slightly. She was definitely more than a few drinks in now; her balance questionable, her smile permanent.

Ally found more people to talk to, and I followed her around like a sad, lost kitten. I’ll admit, she impressed me when she started doing shots and out-drank a man about my size. She pulled me to where couples were dancing at some point, and she swayed with me. I focused on everything except her warm body pressed against mine.

When the song ended, she smiled at me. “You dance better than you sing.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear before realizing what I was doing. I snatched my hand back and scratched my chin with it while glancing away.

“I need another drink,” she announced.

“Maybe water.”

“Boooo.” But she let me steer her toward the bar anyway, tucking herself against my side. “I’m thinking vodka tonic.”

I opened my mouth to object, but she’d already ordered and gotten distracted by the man on stage butchering the song.

“Easy on the vodka, yeah?” I muttered to the bartender, nodding towards Ally, oblivious beside me.

After getting a nod from the bartender, I turned back to the stage, but my focus stayed on Ally. She was shimmying her shoulders, and my gaze snapped to the stage when a deep gap opened in her shirt and I saw more skin than I should’ve.

The bartender passed her the drink, and Ally did a little happy dance. We’d barely made it three steps away from the bar when someone barreled past us—a guy built like a linebacker, clearly not watching where he was going. His shoulder caught Ally square in the back, and she stumbled forward with a yelp, her drink splashing up and out of her glass.

Down the front of her white blouse.

I moved without thinking. One arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back against my chest before she could fall. The other hand came up to steady her shoulder, and suddenly she pressed against me, breathing hard, the liquid soaking through her shirt.

“Hey!” I barked at the guy’s retreating back. “Watch where you’re⁠—”

“It’s fine.” Ally twisted to look up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “It’s fine, I’m fine, it’s—” She glanced down at herself and burst out laughing. “Oh shit. I’m see-through now, aren’t I?”

She was. The vodka tonic had rendered her white blouse basically translucent, the outline of her lack of bra very visible underneath.

And I very deliberately did not look.

“We should get you cleaned up.”

“It’s fine, I’ll dry⁠—”

“You’re shivering.”

She was. Now that I was paying attention, I could feel the tremor running through her where she still pressed against my chest. Just like the kitten. The barn was warm, but wet fabric plus the breeze coming in from the open doors, plus alcohol equaled a recipe for hypothermia. Well, maybe not that, but at least discomfort.

“I have a clean shirt in my room,” I said, already steering her toward the back door that led to the two small bedrooms in the barn. “You can change.”

“Such a gentleman.” She stumbled slightly, and I tightened my grip. “See? Superman.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Never.” She flashed a grin at me, and I bit my cheek to stop from returning it.

The walk to my room felt longer than it should have, considering it was in the same building. Ally leaned heavily against me, her coordination deteriorating with each step, and by the time I got the door open, she practically draped over my arm.

The kitten lifted her head from the pillow and chirped.

“Oh my god.” Ally’s entire face transformed. “Oh my god, look at her, she’s so small⁠—”

“Shirt first. Cat second.”

“But—”

“Ally.”

She pouted but let me guide her to sit on the edge of the twin-size bed while I dug through my bag for something clean. I found a gray henley—soft, oversized on me, which meant it would swallow her whole.

Perfect. The more coverage, the better.

“Here.” I held it out without looking at her. “Bathroom’s through there.”

“You’re not going to help me?”

My brain short-circuited.

“I’m kidding. God, you’re blushing.” She snatched the shirt with a laugh. She was doing nightmare things to my blood pressure. “Be right back.”

The bathroom door clicked shut, and I exhaled hard enough to fog glass.

The kitten meowed at me.

“Don’t start.”

She meowed again.

Ally emerged a few minutes later wearing my shirt like a dress. It hit mid-thigh on her, the sleeves rolled up multiple times, the collar slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was mussed, her makeup slightly smeared, and she looked...

Fuck. She looked like she belonged in my clothes.

“Much better.” She did a little spin. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous.”

“Rude.” But she was grinning as she flopped backward onto the bed, nearly squishing Muffy, who relocated with an indignant squeak. “Your bed is so small.”

“I’m aware.”

“Why did you book a twin?”

“It was the only room available. They don’t normally rent this room out, and they made an exception after seeing how pathetic I was.” I checked my phone. 10:45 PM. “Speaking of which—do you have a way home? You definitely can’t drive.”

Ally waved a hand vaguely. “I’ll call... someone. Or walk. How far is my house?”

“Do you even know where your house is right now?”

She squinted at the ceiling. Thought about it. Giggled. “No.”

Great. Wonderful. Exactly the situation I wanted to be in.

“You can stay here.” The words came out before I could stop them. “It’s fine. One night.”

Ally propped herself up on her elbows, studying me with an expression far too perceptive for someone who’d been doing shots not long ago. “You sure? I can text... Well, someone.”

“It’s late. Don’t wake anyone up.” I grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, already calculating logistics. Twin bed. Two adults. Zero chance of keeping an appropriate distance. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Don’t be silly, this is your room.” She scooted over, pressing herself against the wall. “There’s space. See? Tons of space.”

There was not tons of space. There was approximately six inches of space, most of which would be eliminated the moment I lay down.

“Ally—”

“I don’t bite.” She patted the mattress. “Come on. It’s late, you’re tired, I’m tired, and the floor looks really uncomfortable.”

It did. It really did.

Against every instinct screaming at me to maintain boundaries, I sighed and got ready for bed. When I turned off the light and climbed into bed beside her, I clenched every muscle in my body.

The mattress dipped. Our shoulders touched. I kept myself rigid, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of every point of contact between us.

“Relax,” Ally murmured, already burrowing deeper into the pillow. “I promise I won’t steal all the covers.”

“You’re literally wrapped in the blanket like a burrito right now.”

“Okay, I won’t steal more covers.”

I snorted despite myself. The kitten, apparently over her displacement, crawled up and settled on the pillow behind my head, her tiny purr vibrating against my skull.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The karaoke had finally stopped downstairs, leaving only the faint sounds of wind against the windows and Ally’s breathing slowly evening out beside me.

I thought she’d fallen asleep when her voice came, soft and slurred with exhaustion.

“You should name her.”

“Who?”

“The kitten.” She shifted, and suddenly her head was on my shoulder, her body curling into my side. “She needs a name. You can’t keep calling her ‘the kitten.’”

My arm moved without permission, settling around her shoulders. Holding her steady. Keeping myself from rolling off the tiny bed. That was all.

“I already named her.”

Ally tilted her head to look at me in the darkness, her eyes half-closed. “You did? What?”

“Ragamuffin.” I swallowed. “Muffy for short. Or Muff.”

Her smile was slow and drowsy and devastatingly sweet. “That’s perfect.” She popped the ‘p’ in perfect and giggled, the sound vibrating through me like the kitten’s. “Muffy. I love it.”

“Go to sleep, Ally.”

“Mm.” She pressed her face into my chest and went boneless against me. Within seconds, her breathing deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep.

I lay there in the dark, one arm around a woman I’d known for less than a week, a kitten purring on the pillow behind my head, and tried to remember why I’d driven to this ridiculous town in the first place.

Andi. I was supposed to be winning back Andi. But shit, I hadn’t texted or called her in three days. When I tried to picture Andi’s face, all I could see was the way Ally had laughed on stage. The way she’d thrown her arms around me without hesitation. The way she looked in my shirt, like she belonged in my space.

I tried to summon the reasons I’d loved Andi—the relationship I’d spent years building, the future I’d mapped out.

I couldn’t.

In that moment, there was just Ally.

Well, Ally and Muffy.

Ally shifted in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and I automatically tightened my hold on her. Muffy purred louder.

Yeah, leaving was going to be harder than I thought.